1996
by Matt.Burton
Summary: Following the resignation of his mentor Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs takes charge of the MCRT out of the Washington navy yard. While navigating the ropes of NCIS in the aftermath of the Khobar Towers bombing Gibbs must learn to work with recent additions to his team, a former senators aide and the NCIS deputy director, while tracking down a Hezbollah terrorist.
1. Chapter 1

Only the white base coat of paint stuck to the drywall and the newly installed window panes remained covered in manufacturers tape and plastic cover as what was to become the central hub from NCIS operations world-wide took shape. The physical structure had only been completed in the past couple of weeks and the employees of the civilian agency had not had the time to unpack when I.T. made it their business to get television set up throughout the office before the dust settled. Recently brought out of their banishment to temporarily trailers or auxiliary buildings through the construction period the move-in date for NCIS agents and support staff had been accelerated and lost any triumphant celebration as the offices' unveiling had been marred by catastrophe.

Access to stable telephone lines clear of intermittent static and internet connectivity were luxuries that could not necessarily be made accessible but none the less the agents had been assigned to take up shop in their new headquarters early as intelligence and law enforcement networks alike were abuzz with the latest news, and nothing but. With a television set installed in each section of cubicles, one for about ever four agents or so, each screen was tuned into the same news feed. Agents and analysts all looked on as smoke bellowed from building #131, a housing structure in use by the United States Air Force across the ocean in Khobar, Saudi Arabia. The building was remarkably still standing despite the entire side facing the news cameras, a face that had been ravaged by explosives of unknown origin or composition. Occasionally aerial shots were shown, revealing the massive crater which had formed in front of the building, beneath where truck responsible had been parked before being blow to high heavens.

Sprawled open to a page feature the female G.I. of the month, a copy of _Sniper Monthly_ had been relegated to one side of the desk in use by NCIS Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs in the assembly of three desks to the furthest side of the office floor, just beneath the stairwell leading to the next level above. Still the gunnery sergeant at heart having transferred to the Marine reserves in order to join then-NIS four years prior the agent's hair style betrayed his military past. His stone-cold stare emanated from his collected mindset as he witnessed the carnage's aftermath, experienced in war and combat which he knew far too well on a first-hand basis.

The junior counterpart of what was now a two-man team since the reassignment of a third agent to Hawaii Special Agent Gibbs, or just _Gunny_ , did what he could to get a grasp on the situation transpiring half a world away as he waited to take direction from supervisory agent Mike Franks. Any attempt to reach agents in Norfolk was hindered by the on-going installation of their fancy, high tech new office phones with as many buttons as a PC keyboard but so far, useless. The viable alternative, a Motorola international 8700 model that had been issued to be shared between agents of the Major Case Response Team sat somewhere beneath the magazine provided easy, convenient contact with the outside world but the technological backwards agent avoided it like the plague.

Agent Gibbs, even after using a computer on a daily basis still did not know who or what Windows '95 was. He was a man of the 1980s, like his boss, and was an investigator trained to rely very little on technology of the 90's. Without fear of having to compensate the agency Gibbs openly admitted to dunking the Motorola cellular device like a basketball when things did not go well and was notorious for smacking the phone off his desk to make it go faster or grab a signal when cell towers were being stubborn. To the surprise of many NCIS technicians, and nothing short of a miracle, the Gibbs' art of _smacking 'em to make 'em work_ almost always ended in favour of the agent.

The desks were positioned facing one another, their facing edges forming a triangle so that each agent could communicate effectively, not that communication was the strong suit of Gibbs or his superivosry agent. The addition of a third desk and chair gave Gibbs the impression that another member would be moving in to take up the slack left by the departure of their previous teammate but in the absence of the third thus far file folders and worksheets from Gibbs' pile spilled over from the top of his own stacks and onto the vacant desk. As he performed the menial leg work which would be unheard of from him in the years to come Gibbs realized he was onto something in regards to the Kobar towers bombing and was making progress just as his concentration was broken sharply by two heightened voices leading off the slam of the secured ATAC door.

Glancing skyward towards the railing from the upper level Gibbs listened as the two voices, one of them the unmistakable grovel of Mike Franks took shots at one another before his boss appeared at the top of the staircase. As much as an old west lawman as DC had Special Agent Franks sported a bushy wild west mustache and simple slicked back graying hair that one might have expected to be covered by a cowboy hat as he rode his steed off the navy base.

"Franks!" an authoritative female voice called after him. "We're not done here!"

"Oh, yes. We are," the southern accent of Agent Franks stated definitively, hastening his walk down the two-tiered staircase. "For two month's I've been warning SecNav, warning you, warning the damned director," he maintained, his eyes finding Gibbs' as he avoiding so much as looking in the direction of his pursuer. "The blood of those Air Force people is on your hands."

"We have calls queued with our Middle Eastern desk and OSI and _you_ are the point agent here in Washington, Franks!" 'acting' Assistant Director Whitney Sharp persisted. Her shoulder length highlighted brown hair bobbed along with her stride as she threw herself down to the landing between floors, chasing down the agent mid-descent.

Be it his demeanor in the moment or his dislike for female agents and coworkers in general, most notably those with the smallest authority over him, Mike Franks threw a finger up in the air, between his lips and Sharp's to silence her.

"They're not my problem anymore," Franks informed her, already turning his back on her and continuing downward with a very sarcastic and forced, "Good day, _madam acting deputy director._ "

Recruited four years ago by Franks and having worked for him ever since Gibbs knew how to read his boss. Immediately he knew this was not just another common spat between Mike Franks and a member of the NCIS brass with whom he often butted heads. Gibbs rose from his desk to meet Franks outside the cubicle as he completed his descent. Neither mentor nor probie said a word as they stood face to face, eye to eye, as Gibbs gave the floor to his boss.

While at first Franks said nothing, the two men looked as if they would be locked into the staring contest of the century, he looked Gibbs over from head to toe as if they had just met. With some expression of subdued satisfaction Franks broke the stalemate by unclipping his holstered P226 from his belt and turning it over into Gibbs' right hand. Reaching into his inside left breast pocket Franks repeated the same gesture with his NCIS credentials, laying them atop his holstered weapon.

"Don't screw the pooch, Probie," Mike Franks offered his final words of encouragement to Gibbs, giving a last shot of scorn in the direction Sharp before walking towards the distant elevator, away from his team and away from NCIS.

Gibbs was at a loss for commentary in the moment as he watched his mentor, a fellow marine-turned naval investigator, clear the corner at the opposite end of the office. "Semper fi, Boss," he offered as Franks eluded earshot, taking in the significant change both their careers had taken in the past ninety seconds.

"Looks like you're up to bat, Gunny," Sharp intruded on Gibbs' analysis of the moment, standing at the railing on the landing just above his head. Whether it was out of necessity now that they were down an agent or due to a confidence in the agent that she wasn't conscious of Sharp used a finger to beckon Gibbs to follow her.

"With me," Sharp ordered, turning on her heel and already on her way back up the stairs from which she came.


	2. Chapter 2

Flanked by Executive Assistant Director Tom Morrow at his left and Deputy Director Sharp to his right Agent Gibbs stood behind a row of three bulky CRT monitors as data rolled in to be inspected by two attending analysts seated at their keyboards.

The Anti-Terrorism Alert Center as it was presently known was a far cry from the technological marvel that would succeed ATAC six years distant, the most notable difference being the absence of the floor length display which would one day dominate the head of the operations hub. In its place was a bank of eight 30" tv monitors mounted to one wall, each tuned to a specific channel or video feed as necessary. At present each of those televisions, in some form or another, relayed news and data pertaining to the bombing of the Khobar Towers.

Anderson Cutler's natural presence dominated the assembly of agents from NCIS and at least half a dozen other Federal agencies who gathered on the main floor which laid empty, not yet possessing much in the way of seating that would be provided in later years. His face was well weathered, that of experience as, at the age of sixty-one, he had served his agency well before the letters NCIS had been coined. He began his term as a college graduate with the Office of Naval Intelligence three decades ago in 1965, one year before the Naval Investigative Service was commissioned as a separate entity to distinguish itself from the whole of ONI. He had begun to lose to brown locks at the age of twenty-five. By forty-five such hair was a faded memory.

As the first civilian director appointed to helm the NIS Andy Cutler had seen the United States Navy and the United States Marine Corps through the tensions of the Cold War, the perils of the Vietnam War as well as the first Gulf War. Director Cutler had seen it all and was well respected by those under his leadership however it was well known that his old school ways of playing politics were trying the patience of the White House. His old hat ways meant his days were numbered but to people like Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs Cutler was everything the current climate needed to face the global war on terrorism as they neared the turn of the millennium.

"Initial reports are pointing the finger at Saudi Islamic militants," the director addressed the room from his podium, his secondary directors and Agent Gibbs standing in a row behind him. The absence of Agent Franks had not gone unnoticed by Cutler but he let it slide to the back of his mind, chalking it up to personal experiences with trying agent who had walked out of briefings before.

"Officials on the ground in Khobar and across the region are following up on early leads," Cutler continued. "But we believe al-Qaeda are the driving force behind this particular attack in response to being driven into Afghanistan by Saudi Arabia."

Point agent for the FBI, Supervisory Special Agent Tobias Fornell flicked through a notebook filled with scribbles pertaining to everything he had documented in the early hours since the attack on the Khobar Towers unfolded. "What about a report that says the Iranians were involved?" he posed a question. "The FBI has a number of sources pointing the finger at them."

"News travels fast," Director Cutler remarked. "I heard the same thing from your director moments ago and if the FBI chooses to go in that direction, that is your decision but for now NCIS will be focusing on our own investigation into al-Qaeda." Stepping to one side Cutler nodded over his right shoulder, handing over the podium. "Tom."

The agency executive responsible for intelligence and information sharing, EAD Tom Morrow stepped ahead of Sharp and Gibbs but stopped short of taking over as the center of attention, keeping his distance from the podium. "Our peers in Langley have a man named Saed al-Zaed in their custody overseas. They have confirmed al-Zayed to be a middle man with Hezbollah al-Hejaz. Upon intense questioning following the attack he gave up the names of two American citizens who may have very recent ties to Hezbollah and, subsequently, the planning of the attack."

"Leave it to an attack of this proportion to facilitate inter-agency cooperation," Deputy Director Sharp said in a hushed tone, aside to Agent Gibbs.

"Don't get used to it," the agent replied in kind.

"One of those men, I'm sorry to say, is retired Navy lieutenant commander James Owen Lukic, the son of Bulgarian immigrants," EAD Morrow continued as he was passed a note from one of the analysts behind him. "And as of now," he said, eyes scanning the scrap. "we have confirmed Mr. Lukic has arrived stateside, off of a flight from Riyadh via Heathrow."

"My team will be apprehending the second suspect," Agent Fornell added. "A civilian born to a Saudi banker who came off the same flight. No other apparent ties to your lieutenant commander as far as we know… for now."

"Don't let us keep you, Agent Fornell," Cutler said, dismissing the FBI senior agent and three others in his company. Taking a moment, the director closed ranks with Morrow, Sharp and Gibbs so as not to discuss NCIS' internal politics with a room of eager, prying ears.

"I had planned to assign Mike Franks to lead the apprehension team for Lukic," NCIS' director disclosed to the three subordinates.

"Mike Franks is no longer with the agency," Sharp said, revealing her having paid witness to the untimely departure of the lead agent of their Major Case Response Team.

"That was fast," Cutler mused in his mostly stoic, hardened military manner however he was not particularly discouraged or completely surprised. Like Sharp, and so many others, he had personally butted heads with the rash and chauvinistic agent on many occasions. Franks' absence would at least mean a few less complaints coming across his desk.

"Whit, feel like going back into the field one last time?" the director asked his deputy without a second thought.

"Why do I get the impression that's a rhetorical question?" Sharp responded with her own rhetoric while prepared to follow the order.

"Take Gibbs," Morrow recommended, a nod towards the junior agent. "We can have Vera Strickland's team back you up."

Having been aware that Strickland was the former partner of Mike Franks Sharp felt like she had gained another heel after only just lost one. Not only was Strickland considered the only female agent to whom Franks came close to treat as an equal she was also known as often volunteering to work alongside him.

"I'll get my gun out of mothballs," Sharp submitted, taking a slip of torn yellow ruled paper offered to her by another analyst without mention of her apprehension of working with Franks' female doppelganger.

"I don't need to tell you that we need Lukic alive, Whit," Cutler sternly reminded Sharp while retaining the explicit trust and confidence had had long held for Sharp since first witnessing her in action as an undercover operator in West Germany.

"Understood, sir." Signaling Gibbs with a crooked finger Sharp headed for the exit. "I need to stop by my office, Gibbs. I'll meet you in the squad room."

Once the door to ATAC was again secure with Sharp and Gibbs on the other side of it Morrow asked aside to Cutler, "Is this make or break time for Agent Gibbs, Andy? There are a couple of agents who I could think of to replace Franks as head of major case response."

"There's plenty of Franks in him," Cutler replied, at first sounding as if the notion of Gibbs' resemblance to the departed agency would be a crutch but going on to speak more favorably. "But I remember hearing about that man's exploits in Desert Storm and in his four years with this agency I've seen soe damn good stuff from that man. He was born for counter-terrorism."

"We'll see," Morrow replied with skepticism. The last thing NCIS needed was a new and improved version of Mike Franks.


	3. Chapter 3

As Deputy Director Sharp took a detour to her office on the next floor up Agent Gibbs took a moment to take in all that had happened. Over the course of a single morning he had gone from wasting time with a copy of Sniper Monthly in the cramped but cozy confines of an office trailer to watching the aftermath of some 13,600kg of explosive materials versus an eight-story USAF housing structure. Gibbs had lost his mentor and friend of four years who had also gave him the means to exact revenge on the murder of his wife and only child, not that he would ever speak of it again, and now he was going after one of his most high-profile targets of his naval investigative career.

Overlooking the squad room from above Gibbs took in one rejuvenating breath of air, psyching himself up for what was going to be a day, and most likely a week, of high stakes. It was time to _gear up_ as Franks frequently told him to do when a case came the way of the MCRT. Those two words were all that was needed to give the probie and their other team member the kick in the ass they needed to get to work.

"Gear up, gunny," Gibbs whispered to himself as he dutifully marched down the stairs and back to his desk to grab his gun and, of course, that infernal cancer-causing mobile telephone that just might be the death of him and anyone else who held those devices so close to their brains. As he came down those steps however Gibbs came to find an unknown young man, a trespasser for all intents and purposes, handing around the unowned desk in his cubicle, his paws all of his issue of Sniper Monthly.

"Gibbs," was all the junior agent said as he stopped at the threshold of the cubicle, offering a yet to patented stare at the sandy brown haired, well kept, Harvard-looking young man in his mid-twenties.

In his well-to-do brown slacks, tan sweater vest and white dress shirt the _guest_ stood to his full height of 1.8 meters and offered a hand to Gibbs. "Agent Stanley Burley," he introduced himself, an NCIS shield now visible on the right side of his belt. His first impression was one of competence. He was obviously raw, fresh off the boat but not timid or afraid of his own shadow.

Gibbs guessed the guy was a former varsity jock, football maybe, as they shook hands but he remained silent and maintained his thousand-yard stare for this Burley guy to say something to determine whether he would be welcomed or thrown out at the earliest opportunity. His clean-cut, choir boy presence was an anti-Franks of sorts.

"I'm here from Kings Bay," Agent Burley said, trying to elicit some kind of conversation and to get a read from this Gibbs guy. "I spent the last six months with Agent Wojcik. Wes Wojcik. Do you know him?"

"No," Gibbs replied with a simple shake of head, barely turned to the left. Finally heading in he took the long way around, circling behind the desk Burley had taken ownership of and promptly retrieving his magazine. "So, you've been detailed to the navy yard, Stephen?" he asked, seemingly oblivious to his error as he pulled open a drawer and found his sidearm, still lying among Franks' old gun and creds.

"Yes, and it's _Stanley_ … or Stan," Agent Burley tried to correct Gibbs who paid little attention as he spoke. "I was told by HR to report to Special Agent Franks," he said, holding up a plain, brown office file. "I'm supposed to give this to him."

"You're out of luck, Simon," Gibbs erred again as he plucked the folder from Burley's grasp and opened it, rummaging through what little pages it held to get some information on the new agent he would have to start babysitting. "Not quite Harvard," he observed, looking over Burley's clothes.

"Columbia, actually," Burley stated. "Just as good as Yale or Harvard, regardless of what my dad might say."

"Senator's aide, junior and senior years," Gibbs kept reading. "Senior state senator Madeline Tanner, democrat. Gave you a glowing recommendation to NCIS."

"I actually applied to the Secret Service straight out of college," Burley revealed, maybe not quite in his favor as Gibbs peered over the document, glaring straight in his eye. "They flagged me. Something about stealing the Jack the Bulldog and replacing him with a poodle. The Secret Service interviewer was a Georgetown alum and that was the end of that chapter."

"Careful, or you'll be on chapter three before the second paragraph," Gibbs said, closing his drawer sharply, grabbing the infernal cell phone and walking to the edge of the cubicle as Sharp simultaneously dismounted the stairs.

"Who's this?" Sharp asked as she connected with Gibbs, Burley still lagging behind.

"Sebastian Burley," Gibbs said. "I think. I can't remember." It was anyone's guess if the junior agent was feigning ignorance or legitimately scatter brained.

"Sebastian? Really?" Agent Burley asked, dumbfounded. "Stanley Burley, ma'am," he corrected, speaking directly to Sharp.

"Air express from Wes Wojcik in Kings Bay," Gibbs added, apparently not at such a loss for memory recall as he acted. "Remind me to send him a thank-you note," he sarcastically followd.

"Burley," Sharp repeated, giving the new agent the once over as he stood anxiously in place, wondering if he would be told to sit and or come like a dog. "Do you have a gun, Burley?"

"Yes, ma'am," Burley replied, hopes growing higher as he patted the backpack atop his desk.

"It's not doing you any good in there, Agent," Sharp chastised. "You're with us."

"Gear up," Gibbs translated with a nod. "When we move. You move… Probie."


End file.
